An Empty Chair
by Lady Weasleyy
Summary: Ron, drunken and angry, leaves Hermione. Now, nothing is the same. When you're left alone to think, sometimes depressing thoughts come up. Hermione & Ron know. Song is: A House Is Not a Home, originally by Burt Bacharach


** A/N: I love this song, especially the Glee or Barbra Streisand version. I thought it would be pretty good as a song fic. Mind you, I've never written a SongFic before.**

**Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it ;)**

-HPHP-

Hermione entered the flat, late as usual. She had gotten out of work around nine, and headed to a local restaurant, and had finally returned home. Well, it didn't feel like home. It felt more like she was in an unfamiliar building filled with furniture that must belong to someone, but who? Certainly not her.

And yet, it was Hermione who lived in this saddening apartment. She glanced around the room, and her eyes fell upon an empty chair. His chair. Ron's.

_A chair is still a chair_

_Even when there's no one sitting there_

_But a chair is not a house_

_And a house is not a home_

_When there's no one there to hold you tight,_

_And no one there you can kiss good night._

After Ron had come home one night, completely inebriated, he decided he was sick of their boring life. Thus, he packed his things and headed to Harry's.

Hermione never intended for their life to be so.. plain. She was never reckless or fun, she knew. But her job and lifestyle habits made it obvious, even before she moved in with him, that things would be this way.

She often wondered if he sat in a chair at Harry's home, thinking about her. Would he want to come back? Did he? She figured he probably didn't. Perhaps he had already found someone else. Of course, the very thought made the room darker, and she frowned at her thoughts. If she could just pretend she didn't care, she had a feeling this place would light up, and she could go back to normal.

_A room is still a room_

_Even when there's nothing there but gloom;_

_But a room is not a house,_

_And a house is not a home_

_When the two of us are far apart_

_And one of us has a broken heart._

Ron, as Hermione had hoped, was sitting in a very similar chair in the Potter Residence, thinking about her. Sometimes, he would sit there for hours, completely lost to anyone who attempted to talk to him.

"Ron?" Harry would call, waving a hand in front of his face. After no response, he would add, "She misses you, too."

"Oh, Hermione." Ron whispered, looking at the floor guiltily.

_Now and then I call your name_

_And suddenly your face appears_

_But it's just a crazy game_

_When it ends it ends in tears._

"Ron, if you care so much, go see her again." Ginny suggested weakly. He had been living there only a fortnight, but she was already sick of him sitting there, taking up space and hardly eating a thing. She, like her mother, couldn't believe he wasn't hungry. At the same time she was worried, she got tired of offering things, and eventually stopped.

Ron looked at her, as though the thought had never crossed his mind. Indeed, it had, but hearing someone else say it brought new light to the subject, and he rethought it.

"Know what?" Ron asked, "I will."

"I'll pack you something to eat. Goodness knows Hermione has no food in that house." Ginny said, standing up.

"I have a question." Harry asked quickly. "Why, exactly, do you want to go back? If you left because of a reason, what changed your mind?"

"Thing is, our life could be extremely boring, but it was mostly my fault. On the days Hermione had off, I wouldn't want to do anything, being annoyed that she'd been working so long. It wasn't her fault at all. My job just didn't last as late into the night."

Ginny returned with a complete suitcase of food, and Ron gaped at it. His stomach growled characteristically, but he refused to waste any more time. Hermione would have just gotten home, and he'd have to catch her before she went to bed, or she'd be extremely grumpy - as if she wasn't already.

_Darling, have a heart,_

_Don't let one mistake keep us apart._

_I'm not meant to live alone. Turn this house into a home._

_When I climb the stair and turn the key, _

"Who's there?" Hermione called from the kitchen, hearing the door unlock and open. Sitting up straighter, she attempted to lean and see who it was. All she saw was a tall ginger standing the doorway, looking around awkwardly. "Ron?"

"Uhm, 'Mione?" He asked. Seeing her, he walked into the kitchen. "Look, I'm sorry." He said as she stood.

"You're sorry?" She repeated, walking towards him. "You leave, just like _that_, and you expect that you'll get accepted back like it was nothing?!" She accused, jabbing a finger into his chest.

He smiled down at her familiar gesture. "I was rather hoping, Hermione, that we could just.. well, not start over, " he laughed rather awkwardly, "but perhaps, we could just.. reset. Go back to the night of the argument."

"And what?" Hermione asked. "What purpose would that serve? Reopening wounds don't sound like a good plan to me."

"Of course not. I just.. I need to tell you something. From now on, I won't complain. You're doing what you love and making money by doing your job. And perhaps I'll take an extra job to fill my time, or work overtime. Then, on the weekends, I can make it up to you."

Hermione frowned slightly. "I don't know, Ron.."

"Don't tell me you're not as lost and sad as I am.." He practically begged.

"Well, yes, I am a little sad, and perhaps this house doesn't seem as grand as it used to."

"You used to call it home." He said matter-of-factly.

"Because it used to feel like it. Now, it's just a house. Perhaps with memories, but lacking any soul or feeling." Hermione sighed, looking into the common room area of the flat.

"Well, let's see if we can't make it a home again?" He suggested. "I love you, Hermione."

_Oh, please be there, still in love with me._


End file.
